Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 129
April 11, 2018
Phantom Thread, 3 Billboards, Unforgotten
Yesterday, what a blessing – the sun came out. In the morning, it was as usual dark and raining, and then – thank you God for the surprise of light and warmth! Chris hightailed to Drumbeg Park with Sheba; I couldn’t go because I was waiting for a committee Skype call about the conference. So later, I went for my forest bathing walk on the nearby trails. In more than an hour of walking, this time, I met not one soul.How do all those very tall skinny trees stay up? And see - steps of bright moss on the path.
While I was out, my friend baked an apple pie. Is there nothing he can’t do? It was sublime.
Last night, we watched Phantom Thread, which haunted us both – we discussed it at length at lunch today at the Kitchen restaurant, where we went to get out of the house during another dark, rainy day. I saw it partly as a quirky meditation on power, the power of men over women and of women over men. How a strong woman plots to get her man to change – in this instance, by nearly killing him – and it works! Talk about quirky. Superb sets, costumes of course, and performances – Daniel Day Lewis never better, restrained, utterly convincing, as was Leslie Manville, the great actress who played his hovering, repressed sister. A much more interesting film than expected. On Monday, there wasn’t much sun but it wasn’t raining, so we went to Drumbeg together, and while there, the mountains revealed themselves for the first time, not hidden by clouds.
And then a sea lion charged through the water. That morning, I went for my first bike ride into the village – about half an hour, lots of uphill, not an easy ride but great to have some autonomy. I went to Colleen’s, a wonderful shop with shoes, Irish clothing, tons of cookware and linens. Bought a pair of the fluffy wool slippers my host has here for guests, something for Chris, fleece lining for gumboots. Exciting! And then rode back. I thought I’d go insane stuck here for 3 weeks without a car, nowhere to go by foot except the trails, the bike mostly unusable because of rain. But no problem – I am very happy here in the studio, “the office,” as I call it – “I’m going to the office,” I say to Chris as I set off across his yard with my computer, notebooks, water – working on the memoir. I’d thought I’d be doing new work, but instead I am honing, polishing, cutting the memoir, work I should have done months ago before I sent it out. I’ve cut 1800 words so far, though I’ve also added a few where I thought more explanation was needed. Hope I’m making it better and not just fiddling. But I think I am and it is. CLo and I also watched 3 Billboards, which was not a huge hit with either of us. Just plain weird, much of it unpleasant for no real purpose that I could see, and far too much that made no sense at all. I don’t regret seeing it, it wasn’t dull, but not a success. We also watched “Unforgotten,” a new Masterpiece Mystery on PBS, normally something I wouldn’t watch, but my, so good, those Brits sure know how to hook you. Can’t wait for Sunday when the next episode airs.
So, thus unroll our days – he gets up early, I get up late, he sits at his computer, I go to the office, lunch usually together, then an outing and/or more work, then supper together, then TV. By then the early riser is ready for bed and I read and tap some more; there’s no internet access in the office, so I need to get it all done in the house – many emails about the upcoming conference, the upcoming renovation, my three upcoming courses, family, house, renting the basement apartment… My city life will hit me full force when I’m back, in ten days.
So - now back to the office to work, and then a bit of piano practice, and then, be still my beating heart, a slice of apple pie. It’s dark and cold and raining, and even so, I’m in heaven.
And here's this, that Chris just sent me, so, so true:
April 8, 2018
forest bathing
Today I went forest bathing. Sublime. There's a trail through the woods near Chris's house, and when the sun finally almost appeared, after a long dark drizzly morning, I hit the trail. In an hour's walk, I encountered one other walker with his dog - a huge beautiful forest, empty, quiet except for woodpeckers and other birds, otherwise nothing. A running stream, wind in the trees. Otherwise, nothing but nature. A lot of moss. Moss moss moss.
Last night, Patsy and I went to a Gabriola event - a First Nations family who design clothing and other things were having a fashion show at the Hive, a shop in the centre of the local shopping strip. It was charming.
And then we ordered a take-out pizza and went to her home in the woods near the South Road (Chris is near the North Road). She built it herself and has lived there for nearly 30 years; I've stayed there several times. It's beautiful, tranquil, full of poetry, framed, on the wall. I read several of the poems and wept. Especially this one.
The Wild Geese
Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over fall fields, we name names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
What we need is here.
Today, dark and rainy most of the day, until the afternoon. In the morning, we prepared for the visit of two of Chris's friends for lunch. His house is so lovely, especially when it's dark outside.
Much to be grateful for. What we need is here.
And if you need a smile - there's this, my kindred spirit in Russia, groovin' to the beat.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/Prikol.WhatsApp/permalink/2606237066282623/
Last night, Patsy and I went to a Gabriola event - a First Nations family who design clothing and other things were having a fashion show at the Hive, a shop in the centre of the local shopping strip. It was charming.
And then we ordered a take-out pizza and went to her home in the woods near the South Road (Chris is near the North Road). She built it herself and has lived there for nearly 30 years; I've stayed there several times. It's beautiful, tranquil, full of poetry, framed, on the wall. I read several of the poems and wept. Especially this one.The Wild Geese
Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over fall fields, we name names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
What we need is here.
Today, dark and rainy most of the day, until the afternoon. In the morning, we prepared for the visit of two of Chris's friends for lunch. His house is so lovely, especially when it's dark outside.
Much to be grateful for. What we need is here.And if you need a smile - there's this, my kindred spirit in Russia, groovin' to the beat.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/Prikol.WhatsApp/permalink/2606237066282623/
April 6, 2018
domestic bliss
It's Friday night on Gabriola Island, and great is the tranquillity in the log cabin. I've made a beef stew which is in the oven; the fire is burning, and the pets are quiet for once. It did not rain, and the clouds lifted briefly to allow a brief sense of light and sky. Brief, but hope is there.
Right now the hubby and I are sitting at our separate computers with the BBC world news on TV. Before, he watched his favourite show about British people buying a home in the country. I have not yet gone to the studio to practice the piano and work, but we did take the dog for a walk in gorgeous Drumbeg Park. I saw an otter or seal bobbing in the water, fishing.
And then we bustled around each other in the kitchen; just now, I went to take the stew out to stir and found my hubby had tidied and already hung up the oven mitts. Soon we will eat and then watch something together. I will drink wine and he will have some of his mysterious smoke. We know how to have a good time.
Even more excitement on Wednesday, big night out - we went to see a local group who do "Twilight Radio Theatre," a funny takeoff on old radio programs, with sound effects. So we went to the Surf Lodge for dinner with Patsy, sitting by the window looking out at an incredible view of ocean and beach - empty, gorgeous even in wind and rain. Had a delicious meal in that beautiful place and then watched a funny show. Very welcome during 48 hours of dark skies and constant rain.
Last night was documentaries about photographers night - we watched one about a brilliant Brazilian photographer who photographs tribes, miners, and refugee camps and travels incessantly to shoot his wonderful if harrowing pictures. I kept thinking of his wife, alone at home with their children for many months at a time. And then the other end of the spectrum, a doc about Annie Leibovitz, photographer of the famous. I wanted to watch till we got to Susan Sontag but had to go to bed. Chris was already asleep.
I finished the book about death cleaning and am inspired; when I get home, there's a lot of work to do. But for now - supper to serve to my man. He stokes the fire, and I cook the meat. We're primal here. And God, stew mixed with wood smoke smells mighty good.
Right now the hubby and I are sitting at our separate computers with the BBC world news on TV. Before, he watched his favourite show about British people buying a home in the country. I have not yet gone to the studio to practice the piano and work, but we did take the dog for a walk in gorgeous Drumbeg Park. I saw an otter or seal bobbing in the water, fishing.
And then we bustled around each other in the kitchen; just now, I went to take the stew out to stir and found my hubby had tidied and already hung up the oven mitts. Soon we will eat and then watch something together. I will drink wine and he will have some of his mysterious smoke. We know how to have a good time.Even more excitement on Wednesday, big night out - we went to see a local group who do "Twilight Radio Theatre," a funny takeoff on old radio programs, with sound effects. So we went to the Surf Lodge for dinner with Patsy, sitting by the window looking out at an incredible view of ocean and beach - empty, gorgeous even in wind and rain. Had a delicious meal in that beautiful place and then watched a funny show. Very welcome during 48 hours of dark skies and constant rain.
Last night was documentaries about photographers night - we watched one about a brilliant Brazilian photographer who photographs tribes, miners, and refugee camps and travels incessantly to shoot his wonderful if harrowing pictures. I kept thinking of his wife, alone at home with their children for many months at a time. And then the other end of the spectrum, a doc about Annie Leibovitz, photographer of the famous. I wanted to watch till we got to Susan Sontag but had to go to bed. Chris was already asleep.
I finished the book about death cleaning and am inspired; when I get home, there's a lot of work to do. But for now - supper to serve to my man. He stokes the fire, and I cook the meat. We're primal here. And God, stew mixed with wood smoke smells mighty good.
April 4, 2018
Lincoln in the Bardo
Chris just sent me this:
Hard to believe such a gloomy diagnosis for the whole of next week, but there it is.
WAAAAH!
I was going to go for a bike ride today to the village, but it's not just grey and cloudy now, it's full on raining. So we'll be staying home. Ah well. We will work. The fridge is full of food, and Sheba can run in the yard if we don't get to a park. For the next week or two.
I know you will find it hard to believe that I, the seasoned traveller, could pack badly, but in fact, I am here in this land of damp chill without a single warm sweater. The weather was apparently glorious before I arrived, and my host urged me to bring hot weather clothing like shorts, which I did. Shorts, short-sleeved t-shirts, a skirt. The weather turned horrible while I was on the plane west, and now, every day, I wear every remotely warm item I brought in a layered pile. What I'd give for one of my thick warm turtlenecks. And, in fact, my long underwear - wish I'd brought that too. I do remember when I was here last year, it got very hot. But perhaps that was just luck, or perhaps later in April. In any case, it's a good thing I can borrow Chris's coats or I would not be a happy camper.
An enormous pleasure: I finished one of the most brilliant books I've ever read, Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders. It's hard to know where to begin, the book is so unusual; Saunders invents a land of the dead, sets the rules of the place, and peoples it with vivid, deeply humane, sometimes humorous characters from more than 150 years ago. I've read a few Saunders short stories in the New Yorker, remember the first, "Victory Lap," in 2009 - read it! - taking my breath away with shock, forcing me to return to the first page to look at the writer's name. He inhabits the souls of two young people, a girl and a boy, and that of a foul rapist, all 3 intimately, powerfully realized.
So it's no surprise that here, he enters fully into the minds of his many characters, male and female, black and white, old and young, most of all that of noble President Lincoln, mourning his dead son Willie and the many deaths of the country's civil war. Along the way, this novel includes many actual quotes from books about the time and place. It takes awhile to get into the rhythm of disjointed speech by ghosts, alternating with quotes.
Here's a bit spoken by a spirit who has just realized that he is in fact dead and will soon leave the bardo - a kind of purgatory where disembodied souls dwell until they move on to their final resting place. He gives a long list of the things he last saw in life.
None of it was real; nothing was real.
Everything was real; inconceivably real, infinitely dear.
These and all things started as nothing, latent within a vast energy-broth, but then we named them, and loved them, and, in this way, brought them forth.
And now must lose them.
I send this out to you, dear friends, before I go, in this instantaneous thought-burst, from a place where time slows and then stops and we may live forever in a single instant.
Goodbye goodbye good---
And he's gone.
It's really good. Highly recommended.
And now for something completely different, though again about the things we must leave behind - I am reading The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning. Will have lots of time to contemplate death today. Chris is at his computer drinking Diet Coke, of course, with Gregorian chant on his sound system, the cats are dashing madly about, the dog has an old shoe in her mouth and is waiting for someone to play, the fire is warming our bones, and outside, wet and, at 10 a.m., very, very dark.
Inside, warm and dry and music and books, with animals at play. So - no problem.
To cheer us up, a photo of Chris's beloved friend Steve, who lives in L.A. where there is sun, dressed in his Easter finery:
Hard to believe such a gloomy diagnosis for the whole of next week, but there it is.WAAAAH!
I was going to go for a bike ride today to the village, but it's not just grey and cloudy now, it's full on raining. So we'll be staying home. Ah well. We will work. The fridge is full of food, and Sheba can run in the yard if we don't get to a park. For the next week or two.
I know you will find it hard to believe that I, the seasoned traveller, could pack badly, but in fact, I am here in this land of damp chill without a single warm sweater. The weather was apparently glorious before I arrived, and my host urged me to bring hot weather clothing like shorts, which I did. Shorts, short-sleeved t-shirts, a skirt. The weather turned horrible while I was on the plane west, and now, every day, I wear every remotely warm item I brought in a layered pile. What I'd give for one of my thick warm turtlenecks. And, in fact, my long underwear - wish I'd brought that too. I do remember when I was here last year, it got very hot. But perhaps that was just luck, or perhaps later in April. In any case, it's a good thing I can borrow Chris's coats or I would not be a happy camper.
An enormous pleasure: I finished one of the most brilliant books I've ever read, Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders. It's hard to know where to begin, the book is so unusual; Saunders invents a land of the dead, sets the rules of the place, and peoples it with vivid, deeply humane, sometimes humorous characters from more than 150 years ago. I've read a few Saunders short stories in the New Yorker, remember the first, "Victory Lap," in 2009 - read it! - taking my breath away with shock, forcing me to return to the first page to look at the writer's name. He inhabits the souls of two young people, a girl and a boy, and that of a foul rapist, all 3 intimately, powerfully realized.
So it's no surprise that here, he enters fully into the minds of his many characters, male and female, black and white, old and young, most of all that of noble President Lincoln, mourning his dead son Willie and the many deaths of the country's civil war. Along the way, this novel includes many actual quotes from books about the time and place. It takes awhile to get into the rhythm of disjointed speech by ghosts, alternating with quotes.
Here's a bit spoken by a spirit who has just realized that he is in fact dead and will soon leave the bardo - a kind of purgatory where disembodied souls dwell until they move on to their final resting place. He gives a long list of the things he last saw in life.
None of it was real; nothing was real.
Everything was real; inconceivably real, infinitely dear.
These and all things started as nothing, latent within a vast energy-broth, but then we named them, and loved them, and, in this way, brought them forth.
And now must lose them.
I send this out to you, dear friends, before I go, in this instantaneous thought-burst, from a place where time slows and then stops and we may live forever in a single instant.
Goodbye goodbye good---
And he's gone.
It's really good. Highly recommended.
And now for something completely different, though again about the things we must leave behind - I am reading The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning. Will have lots of time to contemplate death today. Chris is at his computer drinking Diet Coke, of course, with Gregorian chant on his sound system, the cats are dashing madly about, the dog has an old shoe in her mouth and is waiting for someone to play, the fire is warming our bones, and outside, wet and, at 10 a.m., very, very dark.
Inside, warm and dry and music and books, with animals at play. So - no problem.
To cheer us up, a photo of Chris's beloved friend Steve, who lives in L.A. where there is sun, dressed in his Easter finery:
April 2, 2018
sun and water
Today, we made good use of the sunshine, finding two parks, including the glorious Drumbeg. Almost empty except for dog people, stunningly beautiful. Everyone here has a dog. Chris and Sheba will make lots of friends.Click to enlarge
Yours truly in Chris's coat - warm at last. It's heavenly here in the sun.
Yours truly in Chris's coat - warm at last. It's heavenly here in the sun.
sun on the trees
A grey morning though the sky in the distance is blue, so there's hope for today, as there is not for the rest of the week - rain predicted. So our plan is to get out while we can. But in the meantime, I am drinking coffee and tapping away on the chaise longue by the fireplace, and my friend is having a snooze on the sofa, Diet Coke and New Yorker beside him. (I got up at 4.30 a.m. to pee and saw him, as every morning before dawn, at his computer.) The pets are quiet for once. It is so quiet. No sirens! There are no homeless people assailing you when you're out; Patsy told me there are homeless people in the woods, but the islanders do their best to take care of them. The assault level, so high in the city, is much lower here - though there are deep concerns about the future of the island itself, the way land and water are managed etc. But no sirens.
Saturday was indeed a thrilling day - Patsy picked me up at 10.15 to get in the lineup for the 11.20 ferry, so we sat in the car and got caught up. On the ferry, she pointed out a sleek grey figure in the water - not a seal, as I thought, but an otter. In the metropolis of Nanaimo, we drove less than five minutes to Long and McQuade where I rented an electric piano - be still my beating heart. It cost $11 for 3 weeks.
We drove back, left the car in the ferry lineup for the 1.10 back, and went to the mall, London Drugs, a vast sparkling store full of stuff, so exciting. I bought notebooks for work and two books: The Inner Life of Animals, to read here and leave for Chris - I brought Wohlleben's other book, The Hidden Life of Trees, for Chris - and The Gentle Swedish Art of Death Cleaning, a useful book for someone about to renovate and reduce her living space. We got Pad Thai at a noodle restaurant, ate it in the car as we waited to board, and by 1.40 I was setting up my piano in Chris's studio.
Patsy came for dinner and took me to a concert, a jazz duo from the Netherlands, husband and wife who write their own material, very gentle and skilful, though not quite my thing. At the end, they told us Canada has a huge number of great songwriters especially Joni Mitchell, and they did a gorgeous version of Both Sides Now.
Sunday was cold but more or less sunny, though at one point there was a brief flurry of snow; CLo, Sheba and I walked in a gorgeous park, vast ancient cedars and firs, cliffs covered with acid-green moss - and then grocery shopped. The turkeys were on sale, and I realized it was Easter Sunday, did Chris want me to cook an Easter meal? He did, and I did - turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes, broccoli, gravy - and his friend Jay came for dinner. It was splendid, wine, talk, laughs flowing.
As we cleaned up, Chris and I had our first big fight - about putting away the bag of flour. He told me I am bossy. I told him he is cranky. And then it was over. Fun! That's what couples do, even an odd couple like us - air differences and move on. Then we watched Benedict Cumberbatch in an Ian McEwen adaptation, The Child in Time, about a couple whose 3-year old daughter is abducted from a grocery store. Unbearable.
I see the green of the trees is lightening - that must mean sun. Time for him to wake up and me to get dressed. We're going out.
Saturday was indeed a thrilling day - Patsy picked me up at 10.15 to get in the lineup for the 11.20 ferry, so we sat in the car and got caught up. On the ferry, she pointed out a sleek grey figure in the water - not a seal, as I thought, but an otter. In the metropolis of Nanaimo, we drove less than five minutes to Long and McQuade where I rented an electric piano - be still my beating heart. It cost $11 for 3 weeks.
We drove back, left the car in the ferry lineup for the 1.10 back, and went to the mall, London Drugs, a vast sparkling store full of stuff, so exciting. I bought notebooks for work and two books: The Inner Life of Animals, to read here and leave for Chris - I brought Wohlleben's other book, The Hidden Life of Trees, for Chris - and The Gentle Swedish Art of Death Cleaning, a useful book for someone about to renovate and reduce her living space. We got Pad Thai at a noodle restaurant, ate it in the car as we waited to board, and by 1.40 I was setting up my piano in Chris's studio.
Patsy came for dinner and took me to a concert, a jazz duo from the Netherlands, husband and wife who write their own material, very gentle and skilful, though not quite my thing. At the end, they told us Canada has a huge number of great songwriters especially Joni Mitchell, and they did a gorgeous version of Both Sides Now.
Sunday was cold but more or less sunny, though at one point there was a brief flurry of snow; CLo, Sheba and I walked in a gorgeous park, vast ancient cedars and firs, cliffs covered with acid-green moss - and then grocery shopped. The turkeys were on sale, and I realized it was Easter Sunday, did Chris want me to cook an Easter meal? He did, and I did - turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes, broccoli, gravy - and his friend Jay came for dinner. It was splendid, wine, talk, laughs flowing.
As we cleaned up, Chris and I had our first big fight - about putting away the bag of flour. He told me I am bossy. I told him he is cranky. And then it was over. Fun! That's what couples do, even an odd couple like us - air differences and move on. Then we watched Benedict Cumberbatch in an Ian McEwen adaptation, The Child in Time, about a couple whose 3-year old daughter is abducted from a grocery store. Unbearable.
I see the green of the trees is lightening - that must mean sun. Time for him to wake up and me to get dressed. We're going out.
March 31, 2018
Chris's domain
CLo's backyard
His street
Checking out the passersby, of whom there are almost none
Whipping up a simple cake
Still life with said cake
slowing down
I'm in Brigadoon - a magical place drifting in the mists. The air is so fresh, I'm always sleepy, my brain not used to all that oxygen. And then there's this house, a luxury log cabin with high speed wifi and high end kitchen equipment, fllled with exotic objets d'art from around the world and 4 high energy beasties, one of them two-legged.
He gets up at 4, sits at his computer for many hours, goes non-stop around his domain - cleaning, baking, doing. By the time other people would have begun to figure something out, Chris has done it and moved on. He has always been this way, with the energy of a teenager and the focus and drive of a genius, despite significant health issues and, now, being 70.
We've both had moments of wondering whether this pairing will work. He can be cranky and critical, and I - well, I am perfection itself, as you know, not neurotic at all. Here I'm dependent and stuck, with no car and little autonomy, especially in the rain, and he busy with his life and not inclined to waste time. However, so far so good, so very good, even on a day as miserable as Thursday, dark and glowering with incessant rain. We pottered in the morning, went to the village for supplies and lunch, and then home to read and compute and play with animals and watch an episode of Grantchester that we'd both seen. That was it, and it was heaven.
Yesterday, the sun came out and stayed out for most of the day. What a difference - a whole new playground opens up, the great outdoors, Chris's yard and the island itself. We took a tour in the Fiat, stopping at a couple of beaches, noting the mix of hippy longterm residents and wealthy weekenders whose homes line the shore. I took Sheba for a reluctant walk and chased her around the yard, her silken curls streaming behind as she races ecstatically with an old slipper in her mouth. I fashioned both lunch and dinner - one of the chores I can help my host with, and he made an incredible chocolate cake with fanciful piped-on icing. We watched birds and deer and a wild turkey, and in the evening, we watched a superb film: God's Own Country, a beautiful British film about the power of tenderness and kindness to transform lives. Also about gay love. Highly recommended.
No time to post pictures - Chris has posted some of mine in any case - time to get ready for an exciting day. Patsy is coming to get me to take me to the ferry, and we're going to Nanaimo. The big city. To look for an electric piano for me to rent while I'm here. Too much stimulation for this country lass.
He gets up at 4, sits at his computer for many hours, goes non-stop around his domain - cleaning, baking, doing. By the time other people would have begun to figure something out, Chris has done it and moved on. He has always been this way, with the energy of a teenager and the focus and drive of a genius, despite significant health issues and, now, being 70.
We've both had moments of wondering whether this pairing will work. He can be cranky and critical, and I - well, I am perfection itself, as you know, not neurotic at all. Here I'm dependent and stuck, with no car and little autonomy, especially in the rain, and he busy with his life and not inclined to waste time. However, so far so good, so very good, even on a day as miserable as Thursday, dark and glowering with incessant rain. We pottered in the morning, went to the village for supplies and lunch, and then home to read and compute and play with animals and watch an episode of Grantchester that we'd both seen. That was it, and it was heaven.
Yesterday, the sun came out and stayed out for most of the day. What a difference - a whole new playground opens up, the great outdoors, Chris's yard and the island itself. We took a tour in the Fiat, stopping at a couple of beaches, noting the mix of hippy longterm residents and wealthy weekenders whose homes line the shore. I took Sheba for a reluctant walk and chased her around the yard, her silken curls streaming behind as she races ecstatically with an old slipper in her mouth. I fashioned both lunch and dinner - one of the chores I can help my host with, and he made an incredible chocolate cake with fanciful piped-on icing. We watched birds and deer and a wild turkey, and in the evening, we watched a superb film: God's Own Country, a beautiful British film about the power of tenderness and kindness to transform lives. Also about gay love. Highly recommended.
No time to post pictures - Chris has posted some of mine in any case - time to get ready for an exciting day. Patsy is coming to get me to take me to the ferry, and we're going to Nanaimo. The big city. To look for an electric piano for me to rent while I'm here. Too much stimulation for this country lass.
March 29, 2018
island life
A heavy grey morning, cold and wet. I am in Chris's studio, working - well, right now, writing to you. He's in his house, 20 paces away, at his computer. At noon we'll go to the village for groceries and out for lunch, come back for another quiet afternoon, maybe a hot tub, then he'll go to his puppy training class while I cook dinner. Darby and Joan, my parents would have called us - like an old married couple.
Yesterday's excitement for me was going to the village for the first time, a ten minute drive from Chris's. We met Patsy for lunch at a small café, where we sat next to two RCMP officers in full uniform with sidearms, having a tranquil burger with a female friend. One of them writes a funny column in the local newspaper about what the RCMP deal with on the island - one item, Patsy told us, was, "A rowboat has disappeared. Perhaps it ran away to join the navy."
After lunch Patsy and I went to the grocery store, which turned out to be huge and full of everything anyone could need - I wasn't sure how much would be available here, but it turns out just about everything. I bought my necessities, including, most importantly, peanut butter, cheese, and coffee; she took me to the liquor store, two of the local thrift stores, and the good deli, and on the way back, to the place that sells pies by the side of the road - you leave the money in a jar - and then to the egg man, ditto.
Chris gave us a tour of his studio outbuilding, a lovely space lined in pine where he can work on his dresses - nine fantastic creations that took him all last year to fashion, and now he has written a play around them that he hopes to get produced.
For someone with OCD, the studio is heaven - rows of shelves storing rows of bottles filled with the craft items he needs. And now, this is a warm silent place I can come when he's working in the house, and vice versa.
He and I sat again in the hot tub, though without champagne this time; then he watched his favourite TV show Escape to the Country, a British program about urban people looking for country properties - wonder why he likes that one? - and cooked dinner. And finally, the pets slept, and so did we.
This morning he called me over to his worktable window, first to see two white-tailed deer in the woods just outside his fence, and then the large pileated woodpecker with the bright red topknot who dines at his feeder. He has set up bird feeders with suet right outside his office window so he can watch the birds all day - juncoes and towhees, thrushes, many sizes of woodpecker.
I feel the city falling away from my shoulders, chased away by the smell of woodsmoke and wet trees, the profound silence, the feeling of being far away from the pressure, speed, and terrifying madness of our current world. And yet everyone and everything is nearby, I FaceTimed with my daughter last night and again this morning, am still dealing with the conference, with students and editing clients, tenants, the house - but from a place of intense stillness in fir- and smoke-scented air.
For which I am very grateful.
Yesterday's excitement for me was going to the village for the first time, a ten minute drive from Chris's. We met Patsy for lunch at a small café, where we sat next to two RCMP officers in full uniform with sidearms, having a tranquil burger with a female friend. One of them writes a funny column in the local newspaper about what the RCMP deal with on the island - one item, Patsy told us, was, "A rowboat has disappeared. Perhaps it ran away to join the navy."
After lunch Patsy and I went to the grocery store, which turned out to be huge and full of everything anyone could need - I wasn't sure how much would be available here, but it turns out just about everything. I bought my necessities, including, most importantly, peanut butter, cheese, and coffee; she took me to the liquor store, two of the local thrift stores, and the good deli, and on the way back, to the place that sells pies by the side of the road - you leave the money in a jar - and then to the egg man, ditto.
Chris gave us a tour of his studio outbuilding, a lovely space lined in pine where he can work on his dresses - nine fantastic creations that took him all last year to fashion, and now he has written a play around them that he hopes to get produced.
For someone with OCD, the studio is heaven - rows of shelves storing rows of bottles filled with the craft items he needs. And now, this is a warm silent place I can come when he's working in the house, and vice versa.He and I sat again in the hot tub, though without champagne this time; then he watched his favourite TV show Escape to the Country, a British program about urban people looking for country properties - wonder why he likes that one? - and cooked dinner. And finally, the pets slept, and so did we.
This morning he called me over to his worktable window, first to see two white-tailed deer in the woods just outside his fence, and then the large pileated woodpecker with the bright red topknot who dines at his feeder. He has set up bird feeders with suet right outside his office window so he can watch the birds all day - juncoes and towhees, thrushes, many sizes of woodpecker.I feel the city falling away from my shoulders, chased away by the smell of woodsmoke and wet trees, the profound silence, the feeling of being far away from the pressure, speed, and terrifying madness of our current world. And yet everyone and everything is nearby, I FaceTimed with my daughter last night and again this morning, am still dealing with the conference, with students and editing clients, tenants, the house - but from a place of intense stillness in fir- and smoke-scented air.
For which I am very grateful.
March 28, 2018
Gabriola
And now for something completely different: Gabriola Island, off Vancouver Island near Nanaimo, population about 4000, at least in winter, many more in summer. As those of you who follow his blog know, my friend Chris, about six months ago, abruptly decided to sell his tiny perfect apartment in the heart of downtown Vancouver, buy a log cabin on a half acre of wooded land here, and adopt two kittens and a puppy. Some people effect change slowly. Not Chris.
And of course, it's glorious.
But first, yesterday morning in Vancouver, the sun actually came out and Bruce and I went for a walk in Stanley Park. (Click to enlarge.)
Heron's nests
We took the Skytrain to meet Chris, who had flown in to town early that morning for his last appointment with his beloved psychiatrist. The three of us are friends since the Seventies and have travelled to India and spent time in France together. A merry reunion. And then Chris and I set off for the float plane airport, to take the tiny plane to the island.
I sat in the co-pilot's seat - thrilling. I wanted Eli and Ben to be there too, as we skimmed over the water, floated through the sky, and 20 minutes later sailed back down to the water again. As we came ashore, Patsy was waiting for us. One of my oldest and dearest friends, she threw my 20th birthday party when we were both working at Neptune Theatre and housemates in Halifax in 1970. Patsy came to Gabriola almost 30 years ago and has been involved in many initiatives here, including the sponsoring of a Syrian family - can you imagine, they fled from Syria to a refugee camp in Lebanon and from there to Gabriola Island! - and now a tool library, a place where people can come and borrow tools. Always busy.
We drove Chris's cherry red Fiat, surely the only one on the island, to his home. It could not be more perfect for him - a bright warm spacious 3-bedroom house full of beautiful things with an outbuilding studio for his art projects and three gorgeous animals, Sheba the half Bernese Mountain Dog and half ivory coloured poodle with sheep's curls, and two elegant Bengal cats with perfect stripes and spots.
He opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and we got into
the hot tub. Paradise.
And then Patsy arrived with supper hot in her basket - a Thai curry with rice - and Chris's new friend Paula arrived with salad, and we drank champagne and ate and talked with the smell of wood smoke drifting past.
This morning, a walk on a nearby trail with a happy man and a very happy dog. And a happy woman from Toronto.
And of course, it's glorious.
But first, yesterday morning in Vancouver, the sun actually came out and Bruce and I went for a walk in Stanley Park. (Click to enlarge.)
Heron's nests
We took the Skytrain to meet Chris, who had flown in to town early that morning for his last appointment with his beloved psychiatrist. The three of us are friends since the Seventies and have travelled to India and spent time in France together. A merry reunion. And then Chris and I set off for the float plane airport, to take the tiny plane to the island.
I sat in the co-pilot's seat - thrilling. I wanted Eli and Ben to be there too, as we skimmed over the water, floated through the sky, and 20 minutes later sailed back down to the water again. As we came ashore, Patsy was waiting for us. One of my oldest and dearest friends, she threw my 20th birthday party when we were both working at Neptune Theatre and housemates in Halifax in 1970. Patsy came to Gabriola almost 30 years ago and has been involved in many initiatives here, including the sponsoring of a Syrian family - can you imagine, they fled from Syria to a refugee camp in Lebanon and from there to Gabriola Island! - and now a tool library, a place where people can come and borrow tools. Always busy.We drove Chris's cherry red Fiat, surely the only one on the island, to his home. It could not be more perfect for him - a bright warm spacious 3-bedroom house full of beautiful things with an outbuilding studio for his art projects and three gorgeous animals, Sheba the half Bernese Mountain Dog and half ivory coloured poodle with sheep's curls, and two elegant Bengal cats with perfect stripes and spots.
He opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot and we got intothe hot tub. Paradise.
And then Patsy arrived with supper hot in her basket - a Thai curry with rice - and Chris's new friend Paula arrived with salad, and we drank champagne and ate and talked with the smell of wood smoke drifting past.
This morning, a walk on a nearby trail with a happy man and a very happy dog. And a happy woman from Toronto.
